First Season / Bride to Be (9 page)

“Excuse me, Miss Tate,” said Anabel, smiling apologetically. “I'm sorry to take time from school work, but I have something rather important to discuss with the children.”

The governess inclined her head and rose, leaving the nursery with a distinct air of disapproval. Anabel grinned conspiratorially at the children, but Nick and William were still bent over their books, and Susan quickly suppressed her impish response. Anabel felt disproportionately aggrieved. Did no one in her family care a rap for her feelings? What was wrong with the children? They had never been like this. Chagrin made her abrupt. “I have something to tell you, children,” she said. “Some good news.”

Susan looked eager. “We are going home?”

Anabel's annoyance increased. “No. I have told you over and over that we shall spend several months in London.”

Susan, whose idea of the length of a month was hazy, pouted.

“I am going to be married,” continued Anabel. “You will have a new papa.”

All three of them stared at her, stunned.

Anabel moved uncomfortably under their gaze, feeling she hadn't handled the revelation particularly well. “He is Sir Charles Norbury. You met him in the drawing room one day. Remember?”

There was another shocked silence, then Susan burst out, “I
hate
him!”

“Susan!”

“I do! And so does Daisy!”

“Nonsense. You have hardly spoken two words to him. You will like him very well when you know him better.”

Susan's small mouth set in an obstinate line. “Shan't!”

Exasperated, Anabel turned to her sons. “Have you nothing to say?”

Nicholas still looked stunned, but William, conscious of his responsibilities as the oldest, made an effort to pull himself together. “We…we wish you very happy, Mama.”

“You will be happy, too.” Anabel felt goaded. “You have always wished for someone to take you hunting and teach you to shoot.”

“Uncle Christopher is going to do that!” blurted Nick, then flushed. “I mean, he
was
.”

Anabel nearly snapped back at him, but she restrained herself. This was wholly unexpected news to the children, she realized, and they could hardly be blamed for their reaction. When they had had time to take it in, they would no doubt feel better about the change. Though some part of her remained unconvinced by this argument, she said, “We shall be very happy together. You will see. Sir Charles is coming to dinner very soon, and you will all be allowed to dine downstairs to meet him. He is very charming.” Nagging doubt tried to surface again, and she suppressed it.

“He's a blighter,” answered Susan, using a word whose power she knew by Nurse's horror when she had first uttered it.

But Anabel simply laughed. “Mind your tongue, Susan. Where did you hear such an expression?” Looking from one to another pair of wide, reproachful eyes, she hesitated. “Everything will be all right. You'll see.”

They continued to gaze at her.

“We shall be a whole family again,” added Anabel, less strongly. And when their expressions did not change, she was overcome by a kind of cowardice. “I must let you get back to your lessons. We are going riding tomorrow, don't forget.” With a falsely bright smile, she left them.

When the door had closed, there was a short pause, then William burst out, “This is all your fault, Nick!”

“Mine?” His brother stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Yes! If you had never made us start this foolish scheme of avoiding Mama, she—”

“She would have done exactly as she has done.
We
have nothing to do with it.” Nick's tone was bitter.

“Perhaps she was lonely without us, and…”

“Did she
seem
lonely?”

William was forced to shake his head.

“I tell you, we didn't matter a whit,” insisted Nicholas, his delicate face flushed with hurt and anger. He was valiantly suppressing tears. “No one cares for us anymore.”

William set his jaw to keep it from trembling.

“Well, I
won't
,” exclaimed Susan, stamping her small foot, her green eyes blazing with rage.

“Won't what?” responded her brothers simultaneously.

“I won't marry that…that awful man. He doesn't like us.”

“You can't tell whether—”

“I can so! I saw how he looked at me, at all of us. He doesn't like us at all.”

Thinking back to their one meeting with Sir Charles, the boys frowned. There was something in what Susan said. They had all sensed that Norbury was not interested in them. “Well, you are not the one who is marrying him,” replied Nicholas pessimistically. “Mama is, and there is nothing we can do about it.”

“Is there not?” His sister's eyes blazed.

“Susan, what are you thinking of?” The boys exchanged an apprehensive glance.

The little girl gazed at them with irate contempt. “I shall—”

Her answer was cut off by the reappearance of the governess, who, knowing nothing of what had passed, was calmly determined to return to lessons. William and Nicholas obeyed resignedly, but Susan continued to glower at her book for the rest of the morning.

When Christopher Hanford came down to breakfast the next morning, his sister was already sitting at the table, poring over the freshly arrived edition of the
Morning Post
. She was so engrossed that she did not hear his approach, but when he pulled out a chair and sat opposite, she started violently and swept the newspaper onto the floor with a convulsive gesture, gazing at him with wide, apprehensive eyes.

“Did I startle you? I'm sorry,” he said. He lifted the lid off a silver dish. “Muffins!”

His sister made no effort to retrieve the paper. She continued to stare, then, recovering herself, looked hastily at her plate. But her fork remained forgotten beside it.

“I'm going riding with the Wyndhams today,” added Christopher, helping himself to tea. “
All
of them.” He looked very cheerful at the thought. “We used to ride together often at home.”

Amelia made a small stifled noise.

“It's not so pleasant in London, of course—no space for a real gallop. But I daresay we shall have a fine time nonetheless.” He buttered a hot muffin liberally, glancing up. “Is something wrong, Amelia? You look pale.”

“No, no. I'm perfectly well.”

He nodded and bit into the muffin. “Have you finished with the newspaper? I should like to see it if you have.”

“No! I mean…” She looked down at the crumpled pages on the carpet. She could hardly claim she was reading. “It…it is sadly dull today.”

Her brother eyed her quizzically.

Amelia frowned. She did not want him to see the announcement. It would make him so unhappy. Yet he would have to know sometime. And if Anabel Wyndham mentioned her engagement while they were riding today, and he found out then… With a sigh she bent and reached for the paper, handing it to him. It was already folded to the relevant page, and Amelia watched as he spread it out on the table, sipping his tea, and began to scan the announcements. She couldn't look away.

At first Hanford read with a slight smile. The reported doings of society always amused him. But when his eyes reached the middle of the second column, his face suddenly froze. He leaned forward, read again, and looked up at his sister, stricken.

Amelia met his blue eyes with sympathy, then with surprise at what she saw there. She had expected chagrin, disappointment, perhaps anger. She had been ready to comfort and condole. But she had always thought of her brother as a self-sufficient and imperturbable person, not bothered by depths of feeling. Even as a child he had always seemed untouched by emotion, and Amelia, five years younger, had often been annoyed by his bland competence. Now she realized that she had been wrong. The anguish in Christopher's eyes was unmistakable. All of his calm authority was gone. He even looked different—the set of his shoulders and lines in his face had shifted so that he seemed almost a stranger. “I'm so sorry, Christopher,” she murmured. “I know you…”

“I have lost her, Amelia,” he said. He gazed at her with a bewildered hurt she had never thought to see. “What shall I do?”

Amelia bit her lower lip. She had always been the one who asked advice. Many people relied on Christopher so, she knew. It was disconcerting to have the tables turned and see her invincible brother at a loss. But after a moment's uncertainty she straightened, determined to help him in the way he had helped her so often. “It is only an engagement, Christopher. Engagements are broken every day.”

“Not by Anabel. She is not that sort.” He bent his head and rested it on his palm. The shock of seeing Anabel's name publicly linked to Norbury's had not worn off.

“She is dazzled by Norbury's manner,” suggested Amelia, hoping she was right. “It will wear thin, you will see.”

“When she is married to him?” he retorted bitterly. “When it is too late? That is worse still.”

His sister grimaced. She thought this scenario only too likely, but she did not wish to increase his unhappiness. “Perhaps before. You must not give up, Christopher. Anabel will see—”

“See?” He laughed harshly. “In nearly four years she has
seen
nothing. I have tried in every way I know to show her my love, and she has taken it as a matter of course, as mere friendship! Good old Christopher! Reliable Christopher! And the moment she meets a posturing, arrogant Londoner, she…” He threw himself back in his chair and expelled a despairing sigh. “She doesn't care for me, Amelia. It's obvious.”

“She does. She is always so glad to see you.”

“As a friend, yes. As someone who will help her out of scrapes and tidy up her tangles. But not as a man to love.” He put a hand to his eyes again, furiously dashing away a hint of moisture there. “Perhaps I should just go home. I don't belong in town.”

“Oh, Christopher!” She rose and went around the table to embrace him. “It is not so hopeless. You are exaggerating. I don't think Anabel knows
what
she feels. And I don't think you should give up so easily.”

Hanford put his hand over hers on his shoulder and patted it. “You are trying to be kind, I know, Amelia. But perhaps I would be better off out of this.”

She hesitated, wondering if he were right, then shook her head. In his country house, alone, he would only lose himself in his miseries. “No, you must stay, and wait. I have a feeling something will happen.”

He smiled slightly. “A feeling? Am I to risk my happiness on so thin a support?”

“My feelings very often turn out true,” she insisted, drawing back a little to look at him.

Christopher gazed up at her. “But I do not know if I can bear it, watching her with him, seeing the whole
ton
acknowledge their engagement. She will expect me to be glad for her. I…” His voice broke, and he stopped, clearing his throat.

His anguished expression struck Amelia to the heart. “Oh, my dear,” she said, embracing him again. “I am so sorry!”

They remained thus for a long moment, then Christopher straightened and she stepped back. He was staring at the wall as if it told him something. “I wonder what the children said when she told them?” He turned to Amelia. “Norbury doesn't care for them.”

“He wouldn't.”

Hanford set his jaw. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I should stay for a while. It will be damnably difficult, but I suppose I can manage it. If she should change her mind…” A muscle jumped in his cheek. “But I shan't hope for that. I shall just make certain that they are
all
happy with the change, and then I shall go home.”

Amelia wondered if he were deceiving himself about his motive, but she said nothing to alter his decision. She had her own ideas about Anabel's attachment, ideas that were difficult to state and impossible to prove, and she thought it likely that there would be further developments before any wedding took place.

“I have to get ready to go out,” her brother added. “How can I take them riding after
this
?” He struck the newspaper with the back of his hand. “I feel like shaking her.”

“It might do her a great deal of good,” replied Amelia.

Christopher smiled, shaking his head. “I will have to devote myself to the children to keep my temper.”

That would be a very wise thing to do, agreed Amelia, but not aloud. She watched her brother walk out of the room, then abandoned her half-finished breakfast to hurry to the morning room and write a note.

* * *

The Wyndham family was ready and eager when Christopher arrived at their door an hour later. The children jumped up and down with impatience at the sight of the hired horses he and a groom had brought from the livery, and Anabel held out her hand with a smile. He hardly knew how he answered, but somehow they mounted and set off, one of Lady Goring's grooms joining the other behind them.

“We are fortunate to have such a fine day,” said Anabel. The sun was shining, and a soft breeze was refreshing without being cold.

“Yes,” he agreed. He was finding it difficult to look at her, and talking was out of the question. He wanted to rail, to accuse, but he had no right. Luckily Susan dropped back beside them, her pony diminutive beside Hanford's roan.

“I want to see where
you
live,” she demanded of him.

He smiled down at her determined little face. The sun made Susan's red hair brilliant, and her green eyes sparkled. “I thought you wanted to go to the park.”

“Yes. Afterward.”

He laughed. “Well, we can ride past the house, I suppose. It is not far out of the way. But we are
not
going in.”

Susan nodded, satisfied. Hanford called to the two boys, who had ridden a little ahead, and the party turned right at the next street, riding past the Lanforth town house. Susan gazed around her with intense interest and eyed the facade as if memorizing it. Then, abruptly, she declared she was ready to go on. Her brothers sighed with relief; they had been afraid she would drag them to some other dull place. And the adults exchanged a smile. For a moment Christopher felt happy, then he remembered the engagement and urged his mount forward.

“You're quiet today,” he said to William and Nicholas when he came up with them.

William shrugged. Nick said, “We're thinking. Have you heard that Mama is getting married?”

Feeling as if he had taken a blow to the chest, Hanford nodded.

“Well, we're wondering what we can do about it.”

William snorted derisively.

“Do?” Hanford felt a bit guilty inquiring. He had no right to interfere, he knew, but he couldn't resist finding out the children's attitude toward the match.

“To stop her. She is to marry that Norbury, you know.”

“Yes.”

“We don't like him!”

“Don't be an idiot, Nick,” put in William. “There's nothing we can do.”

“Not if we don't even try!” replied his brother hotly.

Hanford's intense gratification at their remarks made him more uneasy. He should not be talking so to Anabel's children, yet it was hard to resist.

“Do
you
like him?” asked Nicholas with a frown.

“I?” Christopher was at a loss. “I…I scarcely know him.”

“I didn't think so.” The boy nodded, satisfied. “There's something wrong with him. Even Susan sees it.”

“I didn't mean…” Hanford groped for words. He didn't want to lie, but neither could he in conscience encourage Nick.

“I shall think of something,” was the younger Wyndham's only response.

They reached the gates of the park, and Anabel and Susan caught up with them so that they entered in a group. The children immediately kicked their mounts' flanks and trotted off at the fastest pace allowed in this fashionable enclosure. Christopher and Anabel watched them.

“It was so good of you to think of this,” she said. “I don't know why I didn't myself. They love riding so.”

“They're very good at it too.”

“I hope so. They certainly don't take much care. I have scolded them about it over and over.”

He gazed after the three bouncing children. There was no chance of a neck-or-nothing gallop here, but they were throwing themselves into their more sedate progress. William had a fine seat and good hands; Nick, though slightly less skilled, clearly made up for it in spirit, and Susan showed all the signs of a future belle of the hunt. She would be the kind of rider, Hanford thought, who drives the young men frantic in their efforts to keep up and surpass her. Few would manage the thing.

“Uncle Christopher!” called Nick. “Come on.” He signaled vigorously.

Smiling, Hanford rode forward to join them. He noticed that they did not summon their mother. In another moment he was pulled into a lively game of follow-the-leader, each rider having to imitate the antics of the first. The children's attempts to find some new challenge made him laugh so that he almost forgot Anabel.

She was watching from nearby, smiling at first at the way they were all enjoying themselves, then, gradually, becoming pensive. None of them shouted to draw her attention to some particularly astonishing trick. They didn't ask for her approval or arbitration of a dispute. They hardly looked in her direction. Her own children and her dearest friend gamboled there, and ignored her. In the past this would have been unimaginable. She would have laughed at anyone who suggested the possibility. But it was happening now. Slowly the sight of them grew oppressive. Had they forgotten she was here? Even Susan, squealing with delight as she played leader and forced the males into the most ridiculous contortions, did not turn wickedly sparkling green eyes for her approval. Anabel drooped a little in her saddle.

She knew the children were not pleased about her engagement, but now that she thought about it, she realized they had been rather aloof for some time. The close, easy relationship that had always existed in her family was breaking down. And Christopher—he must have seen the announcement in the
Morning Post
, but he had not even wished her happy. He had been cold lately too.

Anabel felt very isolated, sitting on her horse and watching the others cavort. It seemed to her suddenly that she had no one. Her old life was shutting her out, and the new one had not yet developed to take its place. Tears of self-pity started in her eyes. But before one could drop, she shook her head and kicked her horse's flanks. She was being ridiculous. “May I join the game?” she called in the gayest tone she could muster.

“We've just finished,” answered Nick. “Susan won. We're going to ride down that avenue now and see what's on the other side of the park.”

With that, they all started off, leaving Anabel to follow in their wake. Christopher felt another wave of guilt as he rode. He shouldn't encourage the children to show their displeasure so openly. But he hadn't actually urged them; he had simply gone along with their schemes. And since he agreed wholeheartedly with their reaction, he felt his behavior was sufficiently justified. He was no self-sacrificing martyr, to argue against his own interests.